Faces in the Whiskey Glass
by Storm Shepherd
Summary: As the sun reflected off of the alcohol, all Roy could see was Maes’ face, laughing and smiling while explaining that his daughter was a little angel sent down to him by God. But he knew even alcohol couldn't help him now. All that was left was taboo.
1. Taboo

Author's Note: Ello All! This is my first story that I have posted publicly, and just so you know, it probably does suck. ; I am pretty sure it is angst...a little help please. All the dictionary says is 'a feeling of anxiety' which doesn't help...

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the things in this Fan fiction...except the author's note. 3

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"Water: 35 liters? Check."

**Human Transmutation, a forbidden taboo**

"Carbon: 20 kg.? Check."

**Never to be done by an Alchemist**

"Ammonia: 4 liters? Check."

**One of the most forbidden alchemic processes**

"Lime: 1.5 liters? Check."

**And yet, it is still attempted, unsuccessfully**

"Phosphorus: 800 g.? Check."

**Each time it fails, more strive to succeed**

"Salt: 250 g.? Check."

**Though none makes it any closer than the last **

"Saltpeter: 100 g.? Check."

**With every transmutation, the alchemist looses more than they gain, in the end**

"Sulfur: 80 g.? Check."

**Such a pointless and idiotic thing to wish achievement in, it would seem**

"Fluorine: 7.5 g.? Check."

**Putting the theory of Equivalent Exchange on the line, how funny**

"Iron: 5 g.? Check."

**It seems to be the most ironic thing ever to cross one's mind, yet,**

"Silicon: 3 g.? Check."

**To the one striving to succeed, it makes every bit of sense**

"15 other elements in small quantities? Check."

A young, raven-haired man hunched over on the floor, reciting these ingredients, almost as if he was cooking something. With a complicated array made of chalk in front of him, this young fool was about to try one of the greatest taboos ever thought to occur; a Human Transmutation. Smiling, the man takes the ingredients and adds them to a tub, lying in the middle of his circle, whistling a merry tune. To some, this man would seem crazy, while to others, he is Roy Mustang. A once great man, he has now been reduced to a, for lack of a better word, mess. Having recently lost his best friend, the young Colonel has worked tirelessly, waiting for this night to come. Tonight, you see, was the night our once renowned Flame Alchemist would try to bring back Maes Hughes.

The room was cramped, and not exactly good for one's health, but it's not like Mustang cared. Beads of sweat trickling down his face, being caught in his five o'clock shadow, Roy reads over his notes once more as Santa Claus would at Christmas time. "I will not fail; this must be perfect…," He whispers, voice hoarse from lack of liquid. Turning around, Mustang squinted his blood-shot eyes in order to see everything in the dimly lit room, making sure it was all there. Once satisfied, Roy maneuvers around his work, trying to reach the door, in order to lock it. This man was determined, and he would let nothing stop him.

Swallowing much needed saliva, the raggedy man finds a seat on an old, rickety wooden chair next to a table filled with bottles, jars, cans, and many other things that were required for the event he was about to start up. It looked like a mad scientist's laboratory table. Grabbing one of many glasses, Mustang filled it with whiskey and took a swig quickly before he decided that his thirst was less important than Maes. After about six other shots of the amber liquid, the Asian-faced colonel stared at it in the drinking cup, a beam of light shining in through tattered curtains. As the sun reflected off of the alcohol, all Roy could see was Maes' face, laughing and smiling while explaining that his daughter was a little angel sent down to him by God. _Why couldn't God send you back to me, Maes? _Was the whisper that went through the young man's mind, his overbearing sorrow engulfing his very soul. He knew not even whiskey or a whore could consol him where he was. All that was left was death, so in what better way to die than to try to bring his one true friend back?

Setting the shot glass down on the corner of his catastrophic table and wiping his sweat on his already sweaty white shirt, Mustang slips out of his chair, only to sit down in his designated spot, legs folded underneath him, making his black pants even dirtier than before. "It's time, buddy. Time for you to come back…" Roy says, looking at the pile in the arrays center once more and shudders. Once a gallant man, he had been reduced to a rotted corpse, and now ashes. Mustang had burned the body so he did not have to see the flesh-eaten body that was once his friend and savior from the pits of hell. Even so, looking at the tub lent pictures into the distraught human's mind, making him ponder shooting himself right in the temple if this did not work. No one on the damnable earth was going to make him continue to live on if he had to see something similar to what the Elric brothers did. That was not how he wants to imagine his only true friend for the rest of his days. All Roy wanted was that happy-go-lucky look in golden eyes, and for his desk phone to scream at him, earning a lecture on marriage as soon as the receiver was to his ear.

Snapping out of his nostalgia, the colonel realized that he was wasting time thinking instead of acting. Memories, as he had learned, will not bring back that dead. But alchemy on the other hand, will. Letting out a whiskey-scented sigh, the main character of this story begins to lift his arms up. Before Mustang claps, though, and seals his fate, he pulls out a faded picture of the two men, placing it on the table next to him. Unable to help himself, Roy submerged himself into his own thoughts again, but none so distracting that he stopped previous minstrations as before, when he zoned out from the world in his cursing of God.In this state of closure, he could not hear the frequent banging upon his sturdy door, nor the shouts of the woman he loved, with her blond locks and beautiful eyes. Roy thinks about them once more, and the times he spent staring at them, trying to decipher whether they were brown, or maybe even a copper color.

Nonetheless, not even his beloved or her guns of fury were enough to change his course of action now, and for that he felt for her. All she did was protect him; the woman lived for him, and plainly returned his feelings; but now it was like he was throwing it in her face. Mustang could not help but smile at this. She was always calling him out for being a smart-ass, but who knew it would go this far. Clapping his calloused hands together sharply, Roy knew this was it. Bending his upper torso forward, the corrupt man played a ghost of a smile on his chapped, bloody lips and slammed his palms against the outer ring of his chalk drawn circle. Blue, radiant light began to light up the room, and Mustang's eyes followed after that. Smile turned to smirk as Colonel Roy Mustang let out a hoarse whisper.

"**Let's see God try to stop me now."**

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Well, now that I've typed it up, I'd really appreciate reviews from everyone. It's been revised and such; I made it longer, flow better; but I need your opinions. Even flames are welcomed, because I want to get better, and write better for you all. Well, I'd best stop typing and let you REVIEW NOW, and if I get enough love/hate, I might type up a sequel. See what happens to that silly ol' Mustang, eh?


	2. Equivalent Exchange

Author's Note: Ah, thank you all for reviewing! It has fueled me to write the next chapter. My friend is going to kill me for updating this instead of a story I am writing her, but she will just have to suck it up. –Laughs-

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this fan fiction, beside the author's note.

Darkness. There was nothing but hollow, empty, expanding darkness. He could feel the blood running down the sides of his face, the surging pain, but Roy Mustang could not see a thing. Reaching out or at least the colonel thought he did, all his hand came up with was air. Feeling a liquid stream down his face, Mustang nearly cursed in the thought that it was a tear. When he touched against his face and pulled his fingers under his nose, though, it was no water. Thick and heavy, the smell was metallic and haunting of memories. Ripping his hand away from his face, Roy realized the liquid for its true form: Blood. Feeling himself hit the floor, the man's breath slowed and softened. All he could think about was Maes. Did it work? Could he have succeeded? Eyelids unable to part, the colonel could not tell. The last thing he remembered before the sensation of falling and sleep was hearing the door splitting off its hinges and his unrequited beloved calling out his name. She told him to stay awake, but the sound of her voice merely made it harder. Her hands were feather light on his shoulders, but made him tingle just the same.

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"…see again." A voice echoed through Roy's skull as he regained consciousness slowly, regretful to leave the warm blankets of sleep. Bandages were thick across his eyes, preventing the ability to see anything still. Aggravated, the man let out a noise from the back of his throat that sounded like tire crunching gravel. Feeling a hand land onto his arm suddenly, his favorite sound in all of his live rang out.

"Colonel!" she cried, relief vibrant in her vocals, betraying her usual stoic behavior. A smirk playing on chapped lips, said colonel rasped, "Yes, Hawkeye, I'm alive. Worried, were we?" and water splashed onto his face suddenly. Spluttering as it leaked into his mouth and registered a coughing frenzy, he remembered to whom he was talking. This made him smile, despite himself. Reaching out, he felt a hand place a towel into his so he may clean his bandaged and water-soaked face. Once the task was complete, Mustang held out said towel blindly and waved it around somewhat for Hawkeye. Feeling calloused hands brush against his own, the Colonel's heart skipped a beat. Her touch sent tingles through his spine, yet seemed to quell the raging internal storm in some manner unbeknownst to him.

"Why, Lieutenant Hawkeye, what would I ever do without you?" Roy mused silently as he felt her weight and warmth leave the uncomfortable bedding. The subconscious need for her to stay there was apparent in his chest, but Mustang gave it no mind. He knew well enough nothing good could come out of being with her, if he could even manage being with her to begin with. Soon lost in his thoughts, Roy whipped his head toward the sound of her honey-like voice.

"You would most likely be dead, sir."

"Touché, Lieutenant, Touché."

Both finalized the brief conversation with a faint smile as Hawkeye shuffled over to the tray of food residing next to Roy's rest area. It naturally came as a shock when he felt a spoon trying to be pressed between his chapped lips, for he could not even see it coming. His instantaneous response was to throw his own head to the side like a baby, earning a deep sigh from the woman next to him.

"Colonel, please do not be stubborn. After what you have just been through, you need to eat and regain strength." Riza coaxed as her smile quickly turned into a gentle frown. He sighed and shook his head lightly, folding his hands upon his lap seriously.

"Not until you answer me this. Did he….did it work?" Roy's voice cracked as he spoke softly, licking his lips in anticipation. The air of the room suddenly fell cold as he could feel Hawkeye shift uncomfortably.

"…No. The transmutation was a failure, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes remains…deceased." Was her empty response as she fought the tidal wave of emotions, clenching her fists. Discomfort settled as Mustang's throat tightened in anguish, knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip upon the white, cotton-like sheets. The sterile smell of the room began to sting his nose while the words seeped into his very soul, scarring and tormenting the small shard of hope to which he clung. The warmth of the previous conversation was no longer there as Mustang turned his battered head to the side dejectedly again. He became lost in thought, leaving his weary lieutenant alone in the real world. She sighed in a sympathizing manner and stood up to leave, only to feel a large hand close around her wrist.

"Why can I not see, Hawkeye?" He suddenly pressed, mouth firmed in a thin line of discomfort. Tugging her wrist back gently, she let the colonel's hand fall to the bed. Her words could not even escape her lips before a nurse strode in, cutting off their talk.

"Good morning, dear! It appears you're awake! I'm glad of that, yes indeed." The middle-aged caretaker chirped obliviously as she walked over, bandages and cleaning supplies in hand. Feeling the weight of the conversation lift itself off her chest, Riza gave a nod to the woman attending Mustang and moved, giving the nurse more accessibility to the now visibly upset patient.

As the nurse tended the distraught Mustang, his lieutenant made her way outside. The atmosphere was stifling in that room. Mind racing and heart pounding, she had no idea what to do next. Elizabeth Hawkeye was so involved in her racing thoughts, she did not notice when the sterile white walls became vast less black sky. It only occurred to the woman where her feet had taken her when the sight of blonde hair and smoke came into view from her peripheral vision. She stopped and turned her head to get a better look. With a deep sigh, Elizabeth knew who it was immediately.

"What do you think you're doing out here, Second Lieutenant Havoc?" echoed through the chilly night air, reaching said person's ears as he took another drag from his cigarette. Turning his own head to look back at her, said man shrugged and reached down, spinning his wheelchair so he was facing her directly.

"I had come for my check-up, but I guess it's supposed to be next week," he mused while wheeling over to her, "silly me. Better early than late, though."

Hawkeye gave him a reproachful look. "You say that, yet you can not seem to hold the same policies for your paperwork…"

"So I hear the Colonel is in the hospital. Makes sense, with you being here n' all. What's going on?" Havoc quickly dodged the subject of 'work'. He immediately regretted asking though as soon as he noticed Hawkeye's face fall and the air around grow increasingly cold. Maybe that was not the smartest question to ask. Mistake made.

"Havoc….I don't know how to say this…" Hawkeye struggled with speaking, trying to keep composure.

"It appears…that Colonel Mustang has lost his sight."

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Well, this only took me about…a little less than four months to update. Huzzah! And it needs work…lots of it…but putting it up online is just a stage in my editing process. A.K.A: I NEED REVIEWS. Pretty please? With sugar on top?


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